There's allot of moisture in the air
It's not rain or snow
There's a density pulling down from the sky
It's not good or bad it just is
I have yet to determine whether it be friend or foe
I can't leave it alone and let it die
What is this thing that puzzles me so
Too much time too many idle thoughts
Maybe there's some therapeutic value to this all
To move on from the doldrums into a fire
It might wake me up from this purgatorial state
Is purgatorial even a real word
I'm no wordsmith although I was touted as such
Don't believe a word I say it was probably made up
This oddly frightening place that I'm in
I wish I could start all over again
Here is now yesterday's long gone
There's a dream at the end of each sentence I wish were true
To wear the worlds pressure over my head
The sign will always read "room for rent"
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